


these things take forever, i especially am slow

by zenstrike



Series: you’re lucky that’s what i like [12]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, mild hamster shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 20:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16205123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: Lance chases inspiration.





	these things take forever, i especially am slow

**Author's Note:**

> i am blessed with the most wonderful beta in the world. thank you colleen for soothing my anxieties and helping me make my writing better and helping me feel confident enough to post it. i love you!
> 
> takes place near the end of their second year. the places they visit at the beginning are based on actual places from my hometown(city?). :’)
> 
> oof i could say more i guess but i won’t

    There was a bar (“A pub!”) down the street from a music shop (“A _record_ store, Lance! Come _on_.”) which was adjacent to a knick-knack store of some kind (“It’s a bookstore.”) and every once in a while Hunk and Keith would insist that they visit all three.

    “Well,” Lance would say. “I’ll stay home.”

    “I mean,” Hunk would reply. “If you want to.” And Keith would frown. And yeah, Lance would get his ass off the couch and come along.

    The bar (“ _Pub_!”) had good mac ‘n cheese. They never drank at said bar (“I give up.”) because they always wound up going, literally, at lunch.

    “Noon,” Lance clarified out loud, hands in pockets as he squinted at the bar’s sign. “You guys realize we go to a bar at noon. Regularly.”

    “Hunk loves it,” Keith said, half-distracted by his phone.

    “I do,” Hunk cooed. “I really do. Just not—later.”

    “By later you mean: ‘When people actually use the bar.’”

    “Yes,” Hunk said with a vigorous nod. “That is exactly what I mean.” He snatched Keith’s phone from his hands. Keith allowed it.

    They took a table on the makeshift patio and enjoyed the springtime sun. Keith and Lance huddled close together on one bench and the three of them shared a mac ‘n cheese and a poutine and a pitcher of lemonade and Lance, eventually, forgot to be annoyed that they weren’t drinking at the bar.

    “I’m going to try and make this,” Hunk decided, licking some leftover cheese from his fork.

    “You can’t,” Keith replied. “Some things are sacred.”

    “You’re so right,” Hunk sighed.

    Lance tried to hide his smile. “You guys are weird.”

    Next was the knick-knack shop which had a name and at one point Lance had known it but there were no signs and he hadn’t bothered to ask anyone to refresh his memory—so, the knick-knack shop. It always smelled weirdly of incense and soap and sold beeswax candles that Lance thought were a little expensive but Hunk liked them.

    “What do you do with them?” Keith asked, peering around Hunk’s elbow.

    “I—burn them?” Hunk blinked rapidly. “I guess?”

    “Huh.”

    “They smell good!”

    Lance rolled his eyes and ushered Keith beyond the dusty glass case of teacups and the crooked rack of colourful jackets and towards the rows of bookshelves at the back of the shop. The smells were stronger back here and a little overwhelming and the lights were always more orange than necessary and the books were always just _barely_ organized and Keith was always— _always_ —delighted by all of it.

    “Maybe one day I’ll have a bookshop,” Keith muttered and Lance shushed his aching heart and tried not to imagine Keith cheerfully shoving books on a shelf in an order that only made sense to him.

    They’d have a cat. And a dog. And an espresso machine and Lance would learn how to use it and—

    “Maybe I don’t need candles,” Hunk muttered behind Lance, staring intently at the candles in his hand. Like they would explain themselves to him.

    “Probably not,” Lance said and tried and failed to look away from Keith tapping at the spines of the books. It was such a Keith-habit. Such a Keith— _thing_ , and it was familiar and heartwarming and Lance sighed, just a little.

    “I can’t go anywhere with you,” Hunk grumbled and turned away to resume his candle debate.

    Hunk decided against the candles. Keith narrowed his picks to just one battered collection of short stories that were too weird for Lance to understand but Keith seemed delighted by them.

    “It’s two dollars,” Lance acquiesced with a shrug.

    “He has a problem,” Hunk said as they followed Keith out the door.

    Keith ignored them, thumbing through the book. The pages crackled.

    And last was the music shop—fine, record shop. On a street of pretentious stores Lance thought that this one—Raven Music—was _especially_ pretentious. Organized, bright, and with soft music playing overhead, the walls were lined with records and posters. Sometimes, they could buy discounted tickets to _just about anything_. Mostly, they could marvel at LPs that none of them could play but that Keith and Hunk got a weird kick out of looking at anyway.

    The cashier didn’t look up as they shuffled in.

    Keith tucked his book under his arm and he and Hunk made a beeline for the back of the store to rifle through the new arrivals. Lance watched them go, hands in his pockets, and then eyed the plain wood baskets lined up at the windows. Empty, today.

    “We’re selling those,” the cashier called, flipping their book shut.

    “The baskets?”

    “Yup.”

    Lance didn’t know what to say to that so he just nodded and turned away from the window. He studied the posters plastered above the display racks: an improv group performing next month; a production of _King Lear_ which, maybe, Keith would like; bands Lance didn’t know putting on shows nearby; bands Lance did know putting on shows a little less nearby; and, new and glossy and vibrant against the cream of the wall, an image of a nebula that Lance couldn’t name.

    Lance blinked.

    He tilted his head.

    He tilted his head the other way.

    Keith laughed from the other side of the store and Hunk said something Lance couldn’t catch and Keith laughed again.

    There was something Lance couldn’t quite place but it was warm in his gut and spreading along his hips and up his spine. It wasn’t the familiar, uncertain panic he’d been wrestling with for too long. It wasn’t something content, either, but more like a buzz that was trying to make its way to his heart as it beat steadily in his chest. Above him, the nebula seemed to shine with its blues and its purples, its sparkling white lights and the little blending of green at the edges of the stardust.

    The buzzing became a prickling along his skin and when Lance finally looked down he had goosebumps up and down his arms.

    “What’s that?” he asked the cashier, pointing over his shoulder at the nebula.

    They squinted up at the poster. “Uh, not sure.” They shrugged and drummed their fingers against their book. “Maybe an album cover? My boss just brought it in the other day.”

    “Oh,” Lance said.

    “Do you like it?”

    Lance glanced back at it. Maybe, he thought. He shrugged and sidestepped the hopeful glimmer in the cashier’s eyes. “It’s nice,” he said.

    The cashier nodded and reopened their book, the opportunity for a sale apparently gone.

    On the walk home, Keith tried to start reading his new, old book and Hunk pulled it from his hands and Lance slung an arm over his shoulders just to feel Keith and they walked, maybe, too close together for it to be practical but nobody complained. Keith and Lance’s kitchen still smelled like lemon from the cleaning they’d done in the morning and Hunk decided that today would be a good day to tackle making a lasagna together and it was all very—good. Lance forgot about the poster, for a little while. He enjoyed the smell of his best friend’s cooking and he listened to his boyfriend try and fail to thwart Hunk’s organizational efforts. He licked sauce from his fingers and waited impatiently in front of the oven until Keith pulled him away by the back of his shirt and the three of them piled onto the couch and watched YouTube videos with more noise than was probably necessary.

    Yes, good. Homey.

    They ate the lasagna. Keith packed leftovers for Hunk and Hunk kissed Red goodbye and Keith and Lance watched Hunk walk away from their building from their kitchen window. The evening cooled rapidly. Keith closed the window. Lance dozed against Keith on the couch and Keith flipped through his book and read particularly odd parts out loud.

    Somewhere along the way Lance started to feel the buzz again, this time starting at the back of his neck. He squirmed.

    “Are you okay?” Keith asked, squeezing his hand.

    “Yeah,” Lance replied. “Just—uncomfortable.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Nothing, I think,” Lance muttered and tried to nuzzle against Keith’s neck.

    Keith released his hand and wrapped his arms around Lance and they fell back against the couch in a pile of limbs and kisses.

    Eventually, the buzz went away, but it was hard to forget.

    He felt the memory of it as he stood at their bathroom sink, blinking at his reflection in the mirror and clutching his toothbrush. He turned his head one way and then the other and studied the shape of his chin, the colour of his hair. He looked normal. He tapped his reflection’s nose experimentally. He still looked normal. He even, kind of, felt normal. Lance tapped the bottom of his toothbrush against the edge of the sink: _tink, tink, tink_. Not anxiety. Not even, really, discomfort. What was it? Was it something he’d forgotten?

    It felt important.

    Keith came to the doorway, looking handsome in his sweats and with his hair tied back. Lance smiled at him. Keith returned it a little late but stepped into the bathroom to press a kiss to Lance’s shoulder.

    “Are you okay?” he asked.

    “Yeah,” Lance replied. “I feel great.” He tapped his toothbrush again.

    “Is that what’s freaking you out?”

    “Maybe,” Lance huffed, almost laughing and then the bubble of amusement died. He frowned. He crossed his arms. “I don’t think I’m freaking out.”

    Keith leaned his chin on Lance’s shoulder. “Yeah?”

    Lance considered this. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “There’s just something bugging me, I think.”

    “What?”

    “I don’t know.” Lance sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

    “Lance.”

    “No, really.” Keith leaned back and Lance seized the chance for a kiss: just a peck and a smile but it felt like sunshine. “I’m good.”

    Keith studied him for a moment, and then nodded. “Okay,” he said and left with a touch to Lance’s elbow.

    Lance brushed his teeth. He stared at his reflection and waited for something to change or something weird to happen but he stayed the same: normal, a little tired maybe, but his eyes were bright and that’s all he could really ask for. Satisfied, he rinsed his mouth and enjoyed his relief and he straightened to smile at his reflection and then thought of the nebula.

    Blues and purples—could there be red? Something to make it warmer than the green, something to make it _shine_. He blinked at himself. He dropped his toothbrush next to Keith’s in their foggy little cup. Blues and reds and purples, yes, and stars.

    He pushed a hand through his hair. He leaned against the sink. He heard Keith talking softly, maybe to Red.

    Lance took a step back and pulled his shirt over his head and stared at his bare-chested reflection. He clutched his shirt in one hand. He touched the base of his throat with the other. He swallowed.

    He turned and peered over his shoulder and wondered: had he always looked like this? He felt, suddenly, both broad and blank. He saw Sylvio and Nadia clinging to his back and heard their laughter in his ears. He saw his parents wrapping him in warm hugs and Isabel fussing over his hair and his siblings crowding close. He saw Hunk lifting him off his feet and slapping his back encouragingly. He saw Keith, his palm smoothing over Lance’s spine and his lips on Lance’s neck and his voice ghosting over the shell of Lance’s ear.

    Lance shivered. When he blinked, he saw Keith just moments before pressing a kiss to his shoulder and crowding close just to hear Lance.

    He thought of Keith, puttering about their tiny apartment in clothes that Lance loved to steal, talking to their hamster and glancing at their photos and leaving his books on their tables, on their chairs. He thought of Keith in their bed, sleeping and warm in their blankets with his hair wild and his face relaxed. He thought of Keith in their bed, the sheets a mess and his hands, his eyes, his lips on Lance.

    “What are you doing?”

    Lance froze. He grimaced.

    “Nothing,” he muttered and turned reluctantly to Keith. “Just—“

    He froze again.

    Keith held out a plate. Red blinked her little black eyes at him, laying flat on her belly on the light blue dish.

    “Keith,” Lance said. “What the fuck.”

    “I brought you a late night snack,” Keith replied easily.

    Red blinked some more.

    “Put her back!”

    “What?” Keith brought the plate closer to his face and tilted his head, as though listening. “What was that, Red? Yeah, I think this is a little scandalous, too.”

    “You are _so weird_.”

    “You’re the one ogling yourself.” Keith paused. “That’s fair, I guess.”

    Lance shut the door in Keith’s face and laughed against the wood, clutching his shirt to his chest.

    “Get out of the bathroom and come to bed,” Keith said and knocked once against the door.

    Lance didn’t reply. He waited until he thought Keith had wandered away again and cracked open the door.

    “Wash that plate!”

    “Put back on your shirt!”

    When Lance finally made it to their bedroom, Red was back in her home and munching away at her dinner (her breakfast?) and Keith was lounging against the pile of pillows, his book open on his knees.

    Lance grimaced. “I don’t think you should bring used books into the bed.”

    Keith raised his eyebrows.

    “It’s just gross, okay!”

    Keith smiled. Lance rolled his eyes and clambered onto the bed, squirrelling under the blankets next to Keith and burying his face against the pillows. Keith nudged him.

    “I’m tired,” Lance said and surprised himself by sounding surprised.

    “Yeah?”

    “Yup.” He wiggled against the bed and then propped up on his elbows and blinked at Keith. Keith was still smiling. His book was closed now, resting on his legs, and he reached out to push a hand through Lance’s hair. Lance sighed and leaned into the touch.

    “It was a nice day,” Keith said.

    “Yeah.” Lance rolled onto his side and pushed at Keith’s book. “I’m still tired.”

    Keith hummed and tossed his book onto the already crowded night table and leaned in to kiss Lance. Warm and sweet so that Lance had to focus to keep from falling back against the bed and dragging Keith with him. Warm and sweet so Lance marvelled, not for the first time and not for the last time, at how soft Keith’s lips were and how Keith’s fingers seemed to dance along his jaw. Warm and sweet so he didn’t notice that he had closed his eyes until Keith was pulling back and Lance had to wrestle his way out of the heavy love-daze Keith often left him in.

    “That’s nice,” he said.

    Keith’s smile returned and he pecked the corner of Lance’s mouth. “Yeah,” he agreed. He twisted away and reached for the lamp and Lance had a moment of marvelous clarity. There was the way Keith’s hair fell and the way his shirt hung on his shoulders and the line of his neck that Lance knew—and knew he knew—so well. There was the bruise on Keith’s elbow from a nasty fall in practice that Lance got just a glimpse of as Keith reached out and there was the way the pillows and the bed seemed to try and fold Keith up in them. There was even the sound of the two breaths Keith took with that one motion and there was the way that, just for a moment, the world stuttered and stop and sloped in towards Keith. The light went out and Lance thought that Keith was beautiful.

    Stunning, even. Maybe enchanting. But—beautiful. Like it would be wasteful for Lance to do anything but look at Keith and daydream about Keith and love Keith.

    He scooted closer before his nerve could die and pulled Keith against him and pressed his face to Keith’s neck. He took a long breath in.

    “Are you smelling me?” Keith said.

    “Maybe,” Lance replied, his voice muffled.

    Keith tilted his head and Lance nosed along his neck. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

    Lance wondered, just for a moment, if Keith would ever stop asking him that. He wondered if he would ever want Keith to stop asking when, so often, the question warmed him to his core. He wondered if, maybe, it was one of the ways Keith said “I love you.”

    “I’m so good,” Lance sighed. “I can’t even tell you.”

    Keith twisted in his arms and shoved the duvet away when it bunched between them. “Tell me,” he said, his tone serious and sending a shiver up Lance’s spine. “Tell me everything you can.”

    They rolled with Keith’s hand on Lance’s chest and one of Lance’s arms still wound loosely around Keith and when Keith leaned back and Lance gazed up at the dark, shadow-vision of him, he felt like he was sinking—or melting—against their bed.

    Not for the first time, not for the last time.

    “For starters,” Lance managed. “I love you.”

    “That’s a good start,” Keith said and pulled his shirt off.

 

***

 

    (“I love you,” Keith said against the back of his neck, searing it into his skin. “You can’t know how much.”

    Lance wanted to say: _I know—I know_. He wanted to shower Keith in stars. He wanted to ask if, maybe, this is what forever felt like.)

 

***

 

    In the dream, Lance is floating on his back and staring up at a blank, black sky. Keith, standing, leans into view and smiles down at him.

    “Don’t you think you see me enough?” Keith says.

    “I like dreaming about you,” Lance admits, because in the dream he can.

Keith holds out a hand and Lance takes it and when Keith pulls him to his feet the water cascades from his shoulders in blues and purples and reds. Above, the stars burst into bright, white life. Lance throws his head back and laughs and Keith holds him upright.

 

***   

 

    Lance woke first the next morning with Keith’s arm heavy over his waist and their sheets bunching uncomfortably against his back. He frowned at the ceiling and a the bright light streaming through their window.

    Keith grunted against his shoulder.

    “It’s hot,” Lance muttered.

    “It’s spring,” Keith replied, drowsiness making him sound slurred. “Or—something.”

    Lance leaned up on his elbows and blinked until their bedroom clock came into focus. “I think I missed class.”

    “Crap,” Keith said and rolled away and went back to sleep.

    Lance kissed his shoulder and slipped out of bed. He stretched. He listened to Keith snore softly against the pillows. He pulled on his favourite sweatpants and stole Keith’s discarded shirt and tried and failed to fix his hair. Maybe he needed a haircut. He surrendered to the mess on his head and went to start coffee and thought about honouring his routine and going for a run.

    He didn’t.

    He ate a slice of toast, instead. He thought about frying an egg and decided against it. He grabbed his backpack from its sad, discarded spot by the front door and started pulling out his books and tried to pretend he’d attended his morning biochem lecture. He started his laptop. He started another slice of toast and reconsidered the egg and poured himself a cup of coffee.

    He sat down. He tapped his fingers against his keyboard.

    Lance considered his waiting brower and huffed a sigh. The toaster popped. He ignored it. He leaned against the table and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, sighing again and remembered—suddenly, vividly—Keith’s hands on his hips and the feel of Keith’s shoulders under his own hands.

    Lance shut his laptop.

    He drank half his coffee.

    He reopened his laptop and started trying to find the nebula from Raven Music before he had really given it much thought.

    “What are you doing?” Keith asked when he finally wandered into the kitchen, chasing coffee. He grabbed Lance’s discarded toast and ate it in three bites.

    “Chasing inspiration,” Lance replied.

    Keith dusted bread crumbs from his fingers and came to stand behind Lance, peering over Lance’s head to look at the open google search. “Okay,” he said eventually and rested his chin on the top of Lance’s head.

    “Your chin’s pointy.” Lance dragged his fingers idly over his keyboard. “I think I’m going to get a tattoo.”

    Keith digested this. “Of...space?”

    “Something like that.”

    “Well,” Keith said. “Okay.” He pulled back to wander away to the coffee maker, his fingers brushing along Lance’s shoulder in parting.

    Lance twisted his neck to look at his shoulder, feeling the ghost of Keith’s touch. “Maybe more than one,” he said.

 

***

 

    (“Stars, Hunk!” Lance spread his arms for emphasis and Hunk shuffled away from him on the couch, clutching the popcorn bowl. “I’m going to design, like, constellations and stuff.”

    “Constellations and stuff.”

    “Yeah.”

    “On you.”

    “On me.”

“Lance,” Hunk said. “You’re not a canvas.”

Lance tried to shove him off the couch and Keith came back in time to sit between them and take the popcorn from Hunk.

”Did you hear about this?”

”About what?”

“About Lance trying to turn himself into a tapestry.” Hunk huffed. “We’ll hang him on a wall.”   

“Huh,” Keith said and shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

”Stop thinking about it,” Lance muttered. Keith nudged him and ate more popcorn and huffed when Lance stole kernels, one at a time.

“You eat like a monster,” Hunk grumbled.

“He really does. No appreciation,” Lance sighed.

“Can we just watch the movie?”

    They did. It wasn’t very interesting and Hunk started playing a farming game on his phone and Lance started to doze on Keith’s shoulder and Keith finished the popcorn and, for reasons beyond Lance, got really into the ridiculous puzzle-action-movie.

    An hour in, Hunk said: “What will I be?”

    Keith hushed him.

    “What?” Lance said.

    “Me! What will I be on the Lance-tapestry?” Hunk paused. “Make me a lion. A starry lion.”

    “He thinks I’m putting him on my back,” Lance said.

    “You’re definitely putting him on your back,” Keith replied.

    “Just tell me!”

    “You’re going to be a jerk-shaped constellation,” Lance sniffed and pressed his smile against Keith’s shoulder.

    “That means he hasn’t planned that far yet,” Keith said.

    “This is ridiculous,” Hunk muttered and went back to his game.)

 

   

   

   

**Author's Note:**

> happy thanksgiving from me in canada, a little early. i’m still on tumblr having day-to-day freakouts.
> 
> title comes from “first day of my life” by bright eyes. :’)


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